


He Had Become The Sun

by alexenange



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 2016, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenange/pseuds/alexenange
Summary: Alexander has never had a job go so wrong and so right at the same time.Killing was supposed to be easy, after all.





	He Had Become The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> hi ok so I wrote this back in 2016 no fucking joke, that's when the last edit on my google doc was. I haven't been into hamilton since maybe, a year and a half, two years ago? so like, I have no idea what the scene is like now, my only interaction is through comments on my own fics, lol. But I decided to post this anyways because JESUS CHRIST IT'S BEEN SITTING IN MY DRIVE, FINISHED, FOR YEARS, AND I'VE JUST BEEN TOO MUCH OF A PERFECTIONIST TO POST IT. I didn't want to post it until it was perfect but you know what?? I was like, 16 when I wrote this, so I don't care if it's perfect anymore because quite frankly it's still good and that's what matters.

Alexander Hamilton has never worn diamond cuff links before.

Ok, so he’s never had a reason to wear cuff links, let alone the means, and they're fake diamonds, but his point still stands. They were tiny microphones hidden behind thin plastic, perfect this particular case.

Alexander winced as the microphone on his wrist sent feedback to the earpiece he wore and cringed away from the sound. His hair was good enough. It probably wasn’t up to gala standards, but fuck it, he was only there to kill someone and leave, like some sort of fucked up dine and dash. Hit and hightail. Stab and skedaddle. Assassinate and amble out. Alexander was having too much fun with this.

He straightened his tie, which he half hoped would hide a camera, and looked himself up and down in the mirror. Deciding he looked good enough, Alexander took a breath and walked out. Eliza stood in the lobby in a  [ blue dress ](http://productshots2.modcloth.net/productshots/0117/5503/46dddbef11c45e8353b748bdb8910dc2.jpg?1344023638) that hung gracefully off her shoulders. She gave him a polite smile as the two walked down to the car.

The ride was silent, the tension thick.

“I’m not doing this for you.” Eliza finally said. “I’m not interested in having you in my life anymore. I’m doing this for my sister, I just want to make sure that’s clear.”

Alexander nodded. He wanted to say something, but Eliza turned her chin away from him to look out the window at the city flying past. He knew she wouldn’t take him back, and honestly, she shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve Eliza, not after the way he treated her. It never would have worked, even if Alexander hadn’t fucked up. Eliza was too good for a killer like him. Still, he wishes he could take it all back, if only to make sure Eliza never looked at him with heartbreak and hatred. He never wanted to hurt her.

He couldn’t change the past, of course, so he did the only thing he knew how to do; he worked. He took job after job after job, because it was all he knew how to do. Alexander worked that hard because killing shit was less painful than feeling shit. He still couldn't seem to care how many times he ended up close to death or imprisonment. He figured there were only three reasons he hadn’t turned himself in. One, Eliza: she didn’t know what he was, and he didn’t want her to. Two, Angelica: she’d go down with him, and she never even got blood on her hands, she was just his support system, and the one who kicked his ass when he needed it. Three: the Washingtons- he couldn’t disappoint his foster parents, not after all they’ve done for him. It would kill them both to hear Alexander killed for money. He didn’t even care who it was he was killing anymore. He just executed his job (hah) and collected his paycheck, it didn’t matter who his target was.

This one Alexander had heard about in passing once or twice. He was some semi-high profile kid, not too hard, not like he was killing a senator. Just a senator’s firstborn son, John ‘Jack’ Laurens of South Carolina. He was expected at this gala, some bullshit for the rich and powerful to promote themselves and become more rich and more powerful. Angelica would’ve been his ticket in, but her family thought she was in London, so she cashed in a favor Eliza owed her. The job would end up being millions of dollars; it was worth it.

Alexander wondered what Angelica told Eliza. She didn’t know what he was really there for, and Angelica was not the kind of person to sell him out to her. She wouldn't do that, if only because it meant selling herself out as well, to some extent at least. Eliza wasn’t looking at him like she knew just how terrible he was, at least. That was good.

When they got in, the gala was already in full swing. There was open bar with a beautiful Indian woman making a show of preparing someone’s cocktail, and a live jazz band playing at one end of the room. They both scanned the crowd, looking for completely different people.

Eliza saw whoever she was looking for and brightened. She turned to Alexander and smiled, “I see an old friend of mine, Kitty, we haven’t spoken in years. It’d be lovely to catch up.” She kissed his cheek- a courtesy- and drifted off through the crowd. Alexander knew what she was really saying. She was telling him to go and do whatever it is he had to do and leave her alone, she wanted nothing to do with it.

_ “Found him. Jack Laurens is by the bar, talking to some white girl. I’ll find out if she’s important.” _ Alexander discreetly snapped once- the signal they had decided upon to show he got her message- and walked over to the bar.

“Hello, what can I get for you today?” The bartender asked with a thick French accent.

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks.” Alexander considered talking to her in French, but he didn’t want to seem like a presumptuous ass. Then again, most of this job was blending into the crowd; he had to make himself look like every other pretentious dick there. “S’il vous plait.”

She raised her eyebrows and forced a smile that told him she had dealt with ten too many bourgeoisie losers speaking to her in butchered French. “Tu parle Francais?”

“Oui, je me portai parler.”  _ Shit, _ Alexander mentally slapped himself.  _ Now you stand apart from the rest. _

That seemed to gain her genuine interest. “Where are you from?” Alexander watched John ‘Jack’ Laurens in the corner of his eye as he approached the bar and sat next to him.

“Saint-Martin.” The island was close enough to Alexander’s actual homeland that he didn't have to think to lie. “You?”

“France.” She said.

“You speak French?” Jack asked. “I won’t claim to be fluent. Honestly, I understand it more than I speak it. I chose Spanish in high school.” If Alexander wasn’t mistaken, John-Jack winked at him, and suddenly the job was a lot more interesting. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“One whiskey on the rocks for the fine gentleman.” She said with a flourish. “Je m’appelle Adrienne, you?”

“John Laurens.” He answered. “Some people call me Jack, but I don’t really like it.”

_ Noted.  _ “I’m Alex.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Just Alex?”

He laughed and gave him a coy smile. If playing the flirt would help him get the job done, he was more than willing to do it. Seductions were never quite his style, but he had to admit it was a little fun. He pulled the first surname he could think of, one of many fake identities he kept.

“Alex Summers, if you need to know.”

“Alex Summers, what, like in X Men?” Adrienne asked with a laugh. Alexander noticed a tiny tablet fiz in the whiskey. It dissolved before Adrienne slid the drink to John. He looked up at her, wondering why the fuck she drugged him. She met his gaze with a sly smile, and Angelica hissed something in his ear about getting John the fuck away from her.

Alexander rolled his eyes and smiled at ‘Adrienne’, grabbing his and John’s drinks. He stood and angled himself away from the bar but closer to John. “I’ve been hearing that a lot recently. I haven’t even seen those movies, by the way.” Adrienne laughed good-naturedly, but there was something predatory in her eyes as Alex led John away by the elbow. “You’ve been here before, right? You should show me around.”

John’s eyes flicked to his mouth before looking back at Alexander’s eyes. “As you wish, Alex Summers.”

This case was laughably easy. Maybe he could sleep with John, just to make his day more exciting. He was pretty, and definitely not the perfect straight boy his father tried to make him, unless putting a hand on the small of Alexander’s back was the new ‘bro’ thing.

Alexander shrugged off his outer coat and loosened his tie when they stepped into the hall. Not only was the job easy, but he had to wear a three piece suit in the middle of summer. If their client didn’t pay so well, he would’ve passed it up. Leave this to the French, they were good at charming people to death. Alexander briefly wondered if the bartender was one of the two assassins from France. In the world of high-end contract killers, everyone knew everyone else’s codename. He was the Crow-- Angelica was too, now, since they started working together, but Alex had been at the game far longer than her. He had the reputation as the most notorious contract killer out there, which he had to admit was an ego boost.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” He said as he turned back around. John briefly looked him up and down once his jacket was off. Alex put both glasses on a windowsill.

“Nice for a drink.” John looked at the glass partially blocked by Alexander’s body.

“That’s not a good idea.” John frowned, and Alex elaborated. “It’s drugged. The bartender dropped a tablet in. My guess is arsenic.” At least, that’s what he’d use. “Do know where a bathroom is?”

John nodded and led Alexander down the hall. He looked pale and washed out. Alexander wondered if he was going to throw up and hoped not, that would just be gross.

When they got to the bathroom, Alexander filled the sink with some water and poured in the whiskey. “John, if I’m right, and it’s arsenic, it should change color if gold is dropped in.” He looked around for something gold, and smiled when he saw the analogue clock had gold-coated hands. He took it off the wall and played with the back until he could pry it open and take out the hands.

The water turned pink when he dropped it in. John stumbled backwards and inhaled sharply. He leaned against the wall and stared at the sink like it could leap up and kill him. As he processed the information, Alexander thought about his new competition. This was a problem, no other way to phrase it, especially if it was the French duo. Their reputation could rival his own.

“Why would, why would someone,” John started to breathe too fast. od, Alexander had no idea what to do now, this never happened before. “I-- I’ve never-- I don’t understand. Why would someone want to kill me?”

“There are plenty of reasons to commit murder.” Alexander muttered. He realized his mistake in putting arsenic in a pipe that would eventually lead into the sewers, and eventually the public water supply. He hoped they were treating it for arsenic and drained it anyway. “The question you should be asking, is why someone would go as far as to hire an assassin. Most people feeling murderous will either ignore it or act on their own. Trust me when I say that that woman was definitely a professional.”

“How could you know that? Who even are you?”

_ “You better lie your little canary ass off.” _ Angelica hissed into his ear.

“I’m an independent contractor. Not of the murderous variety, don’t worry.” John still looked at him warily. “There are different kinds of independent contractors. You have the obvious ones, the ones everyone knows about, they’re the independent plumbers and internet consultants, things like that. Then a little less legal but still morally ambiguous, there are the hired guards. That’s me. People hire us to protect people, normally obscure royalty. Similarly, there are private militia, who are every bit as frightening as they sound. Someone will hire a couple hundred, maybe a thousand, independent soldiers, and they have their own army. Lastly, there are the contract killers. That would be the bartender out there.

“There are a few people known as top-notch assassins. Everyone involved in the morally ambiguous side of life knows them. First off, the Crows. Then the French. If I’m right, she’s one of that duo.”

_ “Play like the French, Alexander, and get him to trust you.” _ Angelica instructed.

“The one best known for seduction jobs is Spider, who was named after Black Widow.” It was Alexander’s personal opinion that Maria was more of an Irene Adler than a Natasha Romanov, but whatever. “She and Button Gwinnett are the only solo assassins, but no one cares about Button Gwinnett. Lastly, there are the Aristocrats, who could also be after you. I’d hope not, since no one really knows much about them other than they’re gluttons for high-society.” Alex realized he was talking too much and shut his mouth.

John took a deep breath and sat on the closed toilet. He stared at a chip in the paint on the wall. His breathing became irregular.

“So, you’re telling me that there’s this whole world of murderers I never really knew about?” He asked. It was rhetorical, but Alexander nodded anyways. “And for some reason, they’re after me. Do you have any idea why?”

Alexander shook his head. He wasn’t lying; the contract for this job had given no reason, saying to kill him quickly.

John exhaled, his whole body shuddering. “Ok. This is fine. This is fine. I’m fine. This is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Ok.”

_ “Oh my god do something, I think you broke him.” _

Alexander didn’t know what to do. He patted John’s shoulder in the hope that he’d stop freaking out. He never interacted with targets more than whatever it took to slide a knife into their back or swipe a house key. He was completely out of his depth here.

After a few moments John’s breathing became steady, and he closed his eyes.

“You said you were hired to protect me?” He finally asked.

Alexander nodded. “Before you ask, I don’t know who hired me.”

“Do you know how long this’ll take?” John looked up. He sat straight, almost too straight,.

Alexander shrugged. “Indefinite. Whoever it is cares about you a lot.”

“Ok,” John slumped down. “I’ll stop wondering why, at least for now. I guess what I want to know more is how. How did you manage to show up the same day the assassin did? The first day off I’ve given my bodyguard in a while?”

Alexander shrugged again. Of course, he had known that John’s bodyguard would gone. Hercules--  _ Hercules _ and there Theodosia was, thinking  _ her _ name was weird-- Mulligan’s supposed to be the only obstacle. They hadn’t seen this coming, and from the look on Adrienne’s face when Alex led John away, she didn’t either.

Well, no matter what happened next, he couldn’t say the job was too easy anymore.

\---

Alexander redacted his earlier thought; this job was definitely too easy. John was too trusting. He was naive in a way only the rich could be. Alexander did have to give himself some credit, though. After all, if he could talk his way into the mainland, he could talk his way into a mansion, it wasn't John's fault he was cunning.

John had agreed to Alexander sleeping in the same room. At any point in time, Alex could just, stab him. Or shoot him, or poison him, or strangle him, really, this was a wide open opportunity. John was unconscious in a room with an assassin sent to kill him, and no one who actually wanted to keep him alive. The only thing holding Alexander back was the timing; if he moved too soon the others would figure it out. There weren’t exactly a lot of other suspects. That was what fucked up the job. Alexander was now stuck in circumstance, so if he killed John they’d all go after him. Few others could get into the mansion, only John’s family, childhood friends, and a few staff members who had known John since he was a baby. No one would suspect them, but the new guy who suddenly showed up after an attempt on John’s life... They weren’t stupid. Alexander was the only choice that made much sense, anything else would be a stretch.

Alexander sighed and leaned back and jumped a bit when he hit glass. He was set up in the bay window in John’s bedroom, because of course he had a bay window, and kept forgetting there wasn’t a solid wall behind him. Honestly, it was creepy as shit. John’s room itself wasn’t, it was incredible, of course it was, John had a fucking bay window and a trust fund. It was dark out now, and Alexander could see just John’s silhouette outlined in the light shining through the window. He couldn’t tell how full the moon was; clouds covered the sky. He pulled shut the thickest curtains and moved to lean against the bookshelf on one end of the window. It was an awkward angle, but it let him take out his computer to work through the night.

After attempting to contact Angelica through a Tor run chat that deleted everything within five minutes, he gave up. She must have been asleep, or she just didn’t care. Either way, it was pointless. He wasn’t tired yet, so instead of shutting everything done, he opened up a document. He ran a blog, the one thing he owned that was honest and under his real name. He wrote about anything and everything, but the thing people loved most were his critiques and investigations. Being an international criminal had its perks; Alexander could break into any HQ in the world without thinking twice. Hey, if he murders for a living, what’s a little B&E? His morals were already fucked up.

He was working on a series tying the black market to the countries monopolizing the world. It was a subject he was already well-versed in, but he made sure to have plenty of sources. If Alexander didn’t, assholes like that _ ‘monticellomockingbird’  _ guy who just  _ reeked  _ of smarmy southern dick would harass him. There was no fucking way Alexander would give that breed of jackass the satisfaction.

While writing, Alexander found himself looking over at John. He turned over sometimes, and occasionally he would mumble something incoherent, but other than that he was just a breathing target.

_ I could kill him. _ Alexander tilted his head and looked at John. His fingers hovered over his keyboard, forgotten. _ No one knows who I really am. I could kill him, collect the pay, and disappear. It wouldn’t be too hard to change my appearance, even if it meant cutting my hair. It would be easy, so fucking easy… _

Alex shook his head and looked back at the computer screen. He blinked against the brightness of the screen and tried to rationalize his indolence. He told himself that it was too much work to abandon his identity, that there were pictures of him out there and someone would recognize him, and that he could afford to play the long con. There was still a nagging voice of doubt that pestered Alexander to get up and slit John’s throat, but his logic locked it away.

He was too distracted to work, so he started looking up anything he could on the French. It was useless. As far as Alexander knew, the most information anyone had on them was what he saw earlier that day. Some source said that one was royal, but that was one account, and an anecdotal one at that. He knew better than to trust that information, but he still stored it away in case it might hold a clue. Everything else told him what he already knew. They liked confidence missions, but used sniping as a fallback if they couldn’t scam the target to their grave. It was a solid strategy, but one that could be evaded if one knew what to look for. Alexander saved the notes to a document on an encrypted flash drive and shut everything down. There were only a few hours left in the night. Alex would sleep lightly, he always did, so he would be able to wake up if anyone entered the room.

The darkness outside felt heavy on his back like a cloth, and something told Alexander  _ he was not safe here _ , but he fell asleep anyways.

\---

The problem with John Laurens is that he had to go places. He couldn’t just stay inside for a few days until Alexander found the perfect moment and could disappear afterwards, no, he had to be in public, where anything could happen. At least he was smart enough to get an armored car, but really, he shouldn’t go outside.

The day after the gala, he had to go to a birthday party. Then after that he would tutor underprivileged kids, which, ok, Alexander was starting to feel bad about killing him, but a job was a job, and the next day he’d make an appearance at some delegation just to make his father happy. On the last day of the week, there was yet another ball, only this one had more to do with his army buddies and less to do with the bourgeoisie families. At least Alexander was familiar with that world. After the hurricane, he was on his own, until he was taken in by General Washington. He had only lived with him for two years, but he was the closest thing to a father Alexander had ever really had. He reminded himself that he had to email him back. They hadn’t seen each other in eleven years, but they would still keep in contact.

It was probably for the best that Washington wouldn’t recognize Alexander by looks alone, since he had shown up on the news a couple of times. As far as Washington knew, he was roadtripping constantly and making money through his blog and the occasional ghost writing gig. Alexander didn’t want to lie to him, but it was better than him knowing the truth. After he was a general, he joined homeland security. A few years ago he mentioned some sort of internal promotion, but he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Alexander had laughed bitterly when he first read the news; his father was promoted from within homeland security, and he was out killing for money.

“Alex?” Herc’s voice jolted him out of his daydream. “We’re about to go.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” He scrambled to stand and double-checked that he had everything he needed. He didn’t want to kill John at his best friend’s birthday party, but he would do what he needed to.

“Hey, are you ok?” Damn, now Herc was concerned with his well being.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Herc shrugged, but kept an eye on him as they walked John out to the car. The driver was someone named Cato, who happened to be one of the few people John trusted with his life. Then again, all the people he trusted with his life were in that car.

Martha Manning was having her twenty eighth birthday party at the snobby apartment complex simply known as ‘The Place.’ She had reserved the entire fourth floor, which was really impressive, even for someone as rich as she was. She had invited a couple hundred people, but managed to get a list of them and their plus ones for Herc and Alexander, so they could keep an eye out for potential threats.

The floor was open for the most part, but there were alcoves on the edges, which Angelica went to great lengths to wire with cameras. She tapped into the building’s central security system as well, but she had to make sure there were no blind spots. John promised to stay in the view of several people at all times, including either Alexander, Hercules, or both.

Alexander rubbed his jaw as he worked his way through the crowd. He was supposed to be inconspicuous, so he had shaved and worn ‘semi-formal’ clothing, instead of the suit and obvious guard garb Herc was wearing. He felt weird without his goatee.

After making sure there were no immediate threats, he figured that he could work the crowd, try to find anyone who could be one of the French. He doubted Adrienne would show her face, and he didn’t think the other would slip into the staff again, but he was sure they’d be there. No self-respecting contract killer would pass up a party; they were the perfect places to slip in and out undetected, especially big parties like that one.

He spotted someone with a bit of a crowd around them and figured that was the best place to start. If Adrienne tried to blend in, the other might try to stand out. Be extravagant and unforgettable, no one would think you were stupid enough to build throw yourself under the spotlight. It was counter-intuitive, but Alexander knew that it was a favorite of the Aristocrats, so he might as well check it out. Plus, whoever was talking was really pretty.

“Non, I am serious, she laughed at me.” Whatever story the person was telling was already almost done, Alexander could tell. The people listening to them, mostly women shamelessly flirting with them, listened with rapt attention and laughed at all the right times. The speaker had a heavy French accent, and Alexander thought he was right on the mark with them being one of the French.

“I can’t believe you danced with Malia Obama.” One giggled in awe.

They grinned sheepishly. “Well, she laughed at me.”

“You still got to dance with the president’s daughter.” Alexander said, leaning in a little and watching them with a cocked eyebrow. “Who  _ are  _ you?”

Their bashful grin turned into a smirk, and oh did that make the others look jealous. “Full name’s a bit of a mouthful. Appelez-moi Lafayette,” they leaned in closer to Alexander and lowered their voice. “That’s not the only part of me that’s a mouthful.”

This was really too much fun. Alexander had to remind himself to look over at John, because he did have a job, but hey, that didn’t mean he couldn’t sleep with the pretty French person. Maybe then he could find out if they were involved in the case.

“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?” He smirked as the others began to walk away. They changed their posture, cocking their hip and leaning towards Alexander.

“Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Most people tend to prefer it.”

“I’m not most people.”

Alexander’s breath caught. “No, I’m sure you’re not.”

“I like it when people get the job done.” Alex suppressed a shiver. Lafayette looked down at his lips, then back at his eyes, fully knowing just how obvious they were being. “When can I see you again?”

Alexander blinked and took a moment to compose himself. “Club Effigy. Tomorrow, ten o’clock.” He stood on his tiptoes, grabbing theirs shoulder to steady himself as he leaned in to whisper into their ear. “Soyez là.”

He pulled back, letting his hand fall.

“You speak French?” Lafayette’s reaction was similar enough to Adrienne’s that Alexander knew they had to be her partner.

“I’m full of hidden talents.” He winked.

“I can’t wait to find out.” They stepped a respectable distance away from Alexander and tilted their chin. “What’s your name?”

“Alex,” he replied, “Alex Summers.”

They grinned and half-turned away from him. “On se verra là bas, Alex.”

He stood in his place for a moment before snapping himself out of his haze and scanning the room for John. He was talking animatedly to someone he suspected was Martha Manning, so Alexander figured he’d be fine with just Herc in his immediate vicinity. Alexander drifted around a bit and joined a conversation about politics, positioning himself so he could see both John and Lafayette without moving too much. John was as oblivious as Alexander expected him to be, but at least Herc was vigilant. He noticed Lafayette look at John, then back at whoever they were talking to. It seemed he was right about them. Alexander immersed himself back into the conversation to look as natural as possible.

“No, Hillary Clinton was always a better candidate than Bernie Sanders.” He countered the argument someone else made. At least they were democrats. “She had a track record and strong reputation, and there’s a reason people have been trying to take her out of power. Those people being the republican senate, of course. She can do everything Bernie Sanders can and probably more, and it would have a better impact on society as a whole to have a female president.” He knew the argument well enough that he could debate his stance high. Say what you will about his ethics or morals, but Alexander Hamilton knew politics.

The person who had originally made the argument against Hillary frowned and went on the defensive. Honestly, he wasn’t really listening, just paying enough attention to understand that they were bringing up religion. He rolled his eyes at the predictability.

“Are you honestly trying to make the argument that an atheist president is more important and needed than a female president? Church and State are separate, so religion only really matters in congress. That’s just an excuse Sanders delegates give to deflect their self-perpetuation of systemic sexism. Bernie Sanders is still an old white guy, even if he’s a cool old white guy.” The person he was debating opened their mouth again, but Alexander noticed Lafayette get up from where they were seated and start to move. “Excuse me, but I have to leave immediately. It’s nothing personal.”

The room was large enough that Alexander could weave his way through the crowd without losing sight of Lafayette. They were sliding across the floor, ostensibly to use the bathroom. They looked tipsy, but most people there were at least a little drunk, so Alexander couldn’t assume it was an act. He bumped into them and they stumbled, giggling a little.

“Alex!” Their breath smelled like wine, and Alexander knew they had at least one drink so far. “Have a drink with me!”

He nodded after a second’s hesitation and led them both to a table where Alexander could watch John and Lafayette was tilted away from him. They were brought glasses of red wine almost immediately by the hotel staff. Right as they were both about to drink, the song changed, and Lafayette gasped excitedly. They stood and pulled Alexander to his feet, barely giving him to set down his wine. They spun him, and wow, they were a lot stronger than expected, that was hot.

“Dance with me.” They said once Alexander was steady on his feet. They were holding one of his hands, and the other rested on his shoulder. They let go of his shoulder, but still held out their joined hands, gesturing to him that they should dance.

Alexander agreed, and let them spin him around a bit. There were a lot of other people dancing, almost all of them drunk. John was among them, and Alexander could tell he’d had more than one drink. The song ended quickly, and Alexander fell back into his seat. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. Lafayette giggled, then swayed, and pressed a hand to their forehead. They stood and started moving towards an exit to find a bathroom.

John had spotted Alexander as soon as the song ended, and startled Alex by popping up behind him and shouting his name. Alex jumped in his seat, turning his head to look at John, who had wrapped his arms around Alexander’s shoulders. Herc shrugged apologetically, probably the only other sober person in the room.

“Alex! Aaaaaleex!” John laughed and sat in the chair next to Alexander. He frowned dramatically when he saw the glasses of wine on the table and snatched Alexander’s away. “You’re not supposed to be drinking.”

“I wasn’t, John.” John shrugged anyways and downed the glass, blinking sluggishly afterwards. His face was stained pink from the alcohol induced blush, and his words were becoming more and more slurred. Really, he just looked sleepy. Too sleepy, almost.

Alexander turned to Hercules, who looked worried. “Is he normally like this when he drinks?”

Herc shook his head. “Not until we bring out the hard shit, at least.” He sighed and pulled John up, wrapped John’s arm around his shoulders. “I’ll take him out to the car. Just, make sure no one followed us, yeah?” Alexander nodded and followed them, concern growing when John stumbled one time too many and Herc decided to just carry him out bridal style.

Herc was using all of his concentration to bring John downstairs, but Alexander noticed a figure leaning against the wall next to the door. He turned to see Lafayette shaking their head.

Alexander squared his shoulders and tilted up his chin, looking up at Lafayette defiantly. “He’s still breathing.”

“It wasn’t meant for John.” Lafayette sighed and ran a hand over their hair. “I needed you to sleep so I could plant a timed bomb.” They weren’t looking at Alexander maliciously, but rather with interest and curiosity. “You’re good. You’re not some contract guard, are you?”

“How would you know?” Alexander knew he was small, but he was scrappy and vicious and the day someone underestimated him would be one hell of a bad day. “You shouldn’t underestimate me.”

“I see that now.” Laf stepped off the wall. “You’re not a Crow, are you? No,” Laf shook their head. “I’d know a Crow if I saw one.” Alexander almost laughed. “Who  _ are  _ you?”

Alexander felt himself smirk. “Why’d you think I’d tell you that?”

Lafayette was smirking then too, which Alexander hadn’t expected. They stepped closer to Alexander, close enough that he could tell the scent of alcohol was washed out of their mouth with water.

“Because I wasn’t acting earlier, and something tells me you weren’t either.” Alexander said nothing as Lafayette stepped back into the doorway. They turned and looked back at him. They seemed to be a fan of dramatic exits.

“You’re interesting, _ Alex. _ I hope this isn’t the last I see of you.” Lafayette turned and went back inside of the party, and Alexander  _ knew  _ they were emphasizing the sway of their hips, but damn if it didn’t work every bit as well as they intended it to.

Alexander let out a shaky breath and got in the elevator to go downstairs.

\---

Alexander had refused to let Angelica listen to him when he went out to meet Lafayette, but hid a recording device on the inside of his shirt. It would catch everything he heard, but he could edit out anything she wouldn’t want to hear before she got the tape. It was the only way he could justify going out to see Lafayette. They didn’t know who he was, but he knew who they were, and he could probably get some information out of them. The fucking was a pleasant bonus.

Deeper down he knew that it wasn’t all about Lafayette. He knew that a part of him was going out to sleep with someone he liked so he wouldn’t be tempted by another person he liked. Especially not a person he had to kill. Alexander never acknowledged those feelings.

Still, he didn’t tell John he was going out for a booty call. Well, a booty recon mission, really. John probably suspected as much when he saw Alex leaving. He was wearing his best ‘fuck me’ outfit, and John wasn’t naive. He could think whatever he wanted to think, Alexander wouldn’t tell him. It would compromise the integrity of the mission. This wasn’t about his feelings.

Club Effigy was something new and controversial. Alexander had heard about it after he got the news of it opening, since it was creating quite the stir. It’s reputation preceded it; it was as hypersexual as any other nightclub downtown, but it was also self-aware. The staff would dish out condoms like candy, and they bought the hotel above the club to use it for anyone looking to get off.

“I didn’t read you as the kind of person to take me out to a sex club.” He turned when he heard the familiar accented purr of Lafayette’s voice. They sat in the seat next to him and crossed their legs, leaning forwards with their chin on their palm. “It’s only the first date.”

Alexander rolled his eyes, but shifted his posture to look at them. Lafayette was wearing a high-waisted  [ mini-skirt ](http://www.polyvore.com/tobi_business_pleasure_mini_skirt/thing?id=121833011) that slipped up their thigh in a way Alexander knew was deliberate when they sat. Their  [ shirt ](http://www.polyvore.com/dolce_gabbana_shirt/thing?id=161979681) seemed simple at first, just a fitted black T, but Alexander could tell it was expensive, the sort of shirt he would never have thought he would have even be near when he was growing up.

“It’s not a sex club. It’s a nightclub like any other one, but it’s self-aware. Almost everyone in a nightclub is down with getting down with someone else. If you just wanted to drink, you’d go to a bar. Club Effigy knows this perfectly well.”

They grinned. “It seems I was right when I said you were interesting.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Less so in the context of sexual tension, more so in the context of pissed off debate opponents, but they didn’t need to know that. “And I was right when I said you weren’t like most people.”

Something in Lafayette’s eyes darkened, and their gaze became sharp, calculating. “Don’t beat around the bush, Alex, be clear. We’re here for business, not pleasure.”

“The rule of my life is to make business a pleasure, and pleasure my business.” He countered. “An old friend told me that, I find it fits this situation quite well, does it not?” He stood and loosely grabbed Lafayette’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Laf lead him upstairs, Alexander mentally went over the steps of his plan one last time. He had never done something like this before, so of course he came fully prepared with the means to get what he needed.

The lights in the room flicked on when they entered, and the door started to swing shut behind them. Alexander pulled Lafayette down by the collar of their shirt and started walking them back so they had him pressed against the wall. “Business can wait.” He breathed.

Lafayette kissed him hard, sliding one leg between his. Alexander slid his hand up their thigh, under their skirt where it had already ridden up high. They moaned when his hand rested on their hip, and started to kiss his throat. Alexander tilted his head back, trying hard to keep himself quiet. He had never been good at being quiet.

Laf was pulling back to kiss him again, their fingers fumbling to undo his shirt. Alexander ran his fingers under the waistband of their honest to god  [ lacey panties ](http://www.polyvore.com/hanky_panky_signature_high-waist_lace/thing?id=172031018) , jesus christ, and tugged on their hair with his free hand.

“Why’d you have to wear this?” Lafayette asked, frustrated with how long it was taking to get the tiny buttons through the tiny holes.

“I needed time,” Alexander responded, barely holding back a moan. He needed a clear head. He needed to find their concealed knife. He knew they would have one, contract killers always had something with them. Alexander hadn’t brought anything, counting on their habits.

There it was. “What for?” They pressed their lips below his ear, and he could feel them speak better than he could hear them.

He took a deep breath and pulled the tiny butterfly knife out of where it was tucked into their panties, flipping it open and raising it to their throat in one fluid motion. They froze when the cold metal touched their skin, and Alexander could see why. The blade was tiny, probably only two inches, but it was well cared for and sharper than Angelica’s favorite dagger.

“That.” He put his free hand on Lafayette’s chest to push them back until they fell onto the bed. He straddled their lap and shifted so the knife was right under their ear, where he could slit open the carotid artery in a second, which would kill them almost instantly. “Start talking.” His voice was rough, and he swallowed hard, still recovering.

“Is this all you came for?” Laf was breathing hard too, and Alexander could see a hint of fear under their bravado. “I’m offended.”

“Trust me,” Alex ground down on Laf’s lap, biting his lip hard and shuddering. “I wanted this too. I’m a multitasker.” Lafayette let out a small whine when he moved, and god this was harder than he expected, in more ways than one. “Who hired you?”

“Anonymous,” they managed to hold his gaze.

“Do you work with Adrienne? Are you the French?”

“I’d nod if it wouldn’t kill me.”

“Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.” Lafayette raised their eyebrows but stayed silent. “Show me the contract.”

Lafayette gave him an impressively condescending look for someone he could kill in an instant. “I can’t really move, can I? If I could, I wouldn’t have a computer.”

Alexander smirked and slowly slid off their lap, still pointing the knife out. He wondered if they were the dancer, the one known for hand-to-hand combat. “I told you before; you shouldn’t underestimate me.” He nodded at the stand next to the bed, where he had snuck in beforehand and stashed his laptop. He had reserved the room in advance, of course. “Open the drawer. Normally it’s condoms and lube.”

They slowly got up and walked around to the side of the bed where they could sit again and reach the drawer. Their eyes widened when they pulled out the laptop. They set it on the bed while it began to power on, and looked back at Alexander. They licked their lips like they were about to say something, but didn’t. Instead, they shot up with impressive speed and grabbed his arm, pressing their fingers into his vein hard enough to make him cry out and drop the knife. They didn’t stop to pick it up, instead walking him backwards until he was pressed against the wall again. They raised his arms above his head and pinned them there with one hand, using the other to brace themself against the wall and lean in. Alexander swallowed, but met their eyes without hesitation.

“Show me your contract.” Their grip on his wrists tightened just a little, and they pulled his arms up just enough to make Alexander’s body completely open.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Alexander looked past them; he could barely see it, but he could tell his computer was on and ready.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He winked. Their eyebrows shot up incredulously, and honestly, Alexander wouldn’t believe his own nerve in their position. “I have connections.” He hastened to explain. “I know a lot of the top. You and Adrienne, of course, and Spider. I’ve slept with Spider, actually. I know Bonnie and Clyde too, before they retired. I slept with Clyde too, once. And I know the Crows.” They rolled their eyes at that, which was a little hilarious. “I guess you could say I’ve slept with both of them too.”

Lafayette laughed and shook their head, but didn’t release him. “You want me to believe that you know, and have apparently slept with, a lot of the most elite contractors?”

Alexander licked his lips. “Let me prove it to you.”

Lafayette stared at him for a second before letting go of his arms and kicking the knife across the room. As long as Alexander didn’t have it, they had the advantage. He walked past them slowly and sat in the middle of the bed, leaning against the headboard. That way they knew he couldn’t try anything. He pulled his computer onto his lap and opened Tor, logging out of the website and passing it back to Lafayette.

“You first.”

Laf shook their head. “Prove yourself first.”

He chewed his lip, wondering the best way to prove his credibility without pissing off one or more of the deadliest people alive.

“I went to college with Clyde. We were roommates. That’s how we got into contracting.” He started. “Later we met Bonnie, and they fell in love. They fell in love when Bonnie was married to someone else, but that was a part of a long con she was pulling. They worked together after that. Five years after they met, Bonnie found out she was pregnant. I was there when she found out, actually, it’s kind of a funny story.” Lafayette still looked doubtful, so he continued. “They named their daughter after her mother and quit as soon as they found out about the pregnancy, that’s why they vanished. They have a respectable, frustratingly average life.”

“You could be lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Everyone says that when they lie.” Lafayette sighed and sat down, facing him. “You’ll have to give me more than that.”

Alexander looked at them for a moment. “No. You show me your contract first.”

“I won’t show you mine until you prove yourself.”

“Yes you will.” They scowled. “You’re too curious now. I’m a stubborn asshole, so if you want to know more you’ll have to show me your contract.”

Lafayette sneered but conceded. They grabbed the laptop and logged into their account. Normally, there wouldn’t be a way to access information, but a contract wouldn’t be erased until either both parties came through, or it was terminated. They pulled up their agreement and handed the laptop back to Alexander.

He read it, then read it again, then one last time to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Once he was done, he set it on the mattress and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“What do you mean? It’s a short contract why’d you spend so much time reading?” Laf was getting anxious. Alexander was too, but he was always anxious, so he was better at handling it.

“The same person hired us.” He said. “I’m an assassin too, I never meant to get close to the target, it was your partner who fucked that up for me. We got the exact same contract.”

“Merde.” Laf breathed. They stood up and ran a hand through their hair, which was already a mess thanks to Alexander. They turned back to him with an accusatory look. “You  _ are _ a Crow, aren’t you?”

A grin broke out on Alexander’s face, one he didn’t even try to control.

“I’m  _ the _ Crow. Angel joined me three or so years ago. I’ve been the Crow for eleven years now.” He mock-bowed, still sitting. “The one and only Alexander, the most notorious assassin in the West.”

Laf started pacing a little, shaking their head slightly as they processed the new information. After a while they stopped, cocking a hip, and damn their skirt was still hiked up their thigh, and crossed their arms. “All that about sleeping with the others, that was true?”

He nodded, still grinning. “All the ones I’ve met, accepting Bonnie, Adrienne, and you.” He winked. “Yet.”

Laf gave him that look again, the one that would send Alexander to an early grave, then looked around the room. “How long have you saved this for?”

“All night.” He set his computer on the table and leaned forwards. Laf grinned and walked towards him.

“I think it’s time to amend that, Alexander.”

\---

Alexander allowed himself only a moment to catch his breath before getting up out of the bed. He scanned the room until he saw his shirt on the floor and carefully picked it up, shaking it and putting it on.

“Not staying to cuddle?” He heard Laf ask.

He shook his head and hastily buttoned. “We can’t wait any longer. Angelica will have my head.” Alexander knew that wasn’t the real reason he was scrambling for his clothes, but Laf didn’t need to know that.

Laf frowned as Alexander shook out and pulled on his pants. “You barely waited a minute.”

“Our mission is a little time sensitive.” He begged them to stop asking questions, to just drop it, so they could go, and Laf would forget about it.

“Something tells me you aren’t the type to stay long anyways.” Laf got out of the bed and slowly started to put on their own clothes. “Don’t lie, Alexander, it won’t work.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really care.” He said through grit teeth. He snatched the butterfly knife off of the floor and pocketed it. “Angelica won’t let you within ten feet of her if you’re armed.”

They shrugged. “Fine. Take it. But tell me why you’re so quick to leave. Daddy issues?”

Alexander turned back to them, now fully clothed. “Just drop it, ok?”

“It’s your scars, right?” Laf shrugged as they pulled their shirt on over their head. “We’re assassins, Alexander, it’s not unusual to have scars.” They looked at him seriously as he collected his laptop. “It might help not to be so distant.”

He froze for a second, but shook his head. “Not all of my scars are from the job. That’s all you have to know.”

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Laf leaned forwards but made no move to get off the bed.

“Why should I tell you?” He demanded.

“You’re about to burst.” They said softly, with genuine concern in their eyes. “I saw it. Before you dressed. You’re bottling something up, and if you don’t let it out, you’ll burst.”

Alexander flinched away and shook his head. “Just shut your fucking mouth, ok?” He felt bad for snapping; he hadn’t meant to be so cruel, but Laf was digging into places they shouldn’t be anywhere near.

“I won’t stop asking. You need to let it out.”

“Not to you!”

“To  _ someone.” _

“No.” He said firmly. “I don’t need a damn shrink, I’ve had my whole life to deal with this shit on my own. I don’t need anyone else.” Maybe if he kept saying it enough, it would become true. “I’m self-conscious ‘cause of how they look, not what they mean. We don’t have the time for all of my stories anyways, we need to go.”

Laf didn’t say a thing, but stood and pulled Alexander up. They kissed his cheek softly, with more chaste care than Alexander ever expected to feel again.

“Alright.”

\---

“Alexander!” He was greeted with an enraged shout as soon as Angelica opened the door to her room. She was staked out in an upscale hotel that didn’t ask questions, which was the same one Laf and Adrienne were staying in. Alexander wondered what the owner would do if they knew there were three professional murderers paying to stay, and another one visiting.

“Hi.”

Angelica stepped out of the room and smacked him. “It’s been hours, and all I know is that you’ve gone to meet one of the  _ French, _ and you haven’t fucking checked in, and I didn’t know if you were alive because goddamnit that should not have taken that long!” She was drawing the attention of other guests, who just hurriedly walked away from the pissed off woman yelling at the debauched man, both of whom were being watched by the French. Angelica’s lip curled when she noticed a bruise on his neck, and she yanked him to her by his collar. “You better not have given me heart palpitations ‘cause you were getting laid.”

“Uh…” Alexander laughed nervously, biting his lip as she led him by the ear into her room. “Angelica, Angelica, wait!” She slammed the door shut before Laf and Adrienne could get in. “We have a bigger problem.”

She crossed her arms, fiddling with the switch on her taser gun. “Oh, I’m sure we do.”

“The FBI’s after us.” She looked up at him, eyes widening. “Or Homeland Security, I don’t know, some Feds.”

She sat down in front of her computer, which was hooked up to several contraptions that presumably increased its capabilities. She took a deep breath and looked at him, clasping her hands under her head.

“Ok, how do you know this?”

He sighed. “Let the French in, I’ll explain it when we’re all in one place.”

Angelica’s eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. “The French, as in _ the _ French?” He nodded, and she shook her head, muttering ‘jesus christ’ under her breath as she went to let them in. She made it obvious that she had a taser, and immediately started patting them both down for concealed weapons.

“You don’t have to check Lafayette, I’ve already checked them.” Alexander said as he flopped down on Angelica’s bed.

“When exactly did you do that?” Alexander grinned at Angelica, and Laf had a shit-eating grin. Angelica sighed loudly, completely through with Alexander's antics. “Whatever. Now, explain.”

He nodded. “So, when Laf and I were, well, talking,” when Alexander had Laf pinned down and was questioning them, “I managed to see their contract to kill John Laurens. It was the exact same one we got, down to the letter. I even double checked to make sure, and the users were the same. Just a series of numbers, but the same one. Two, nine, one, six, two, two, zero, zero, three. Nine numbers that seem random, definitely the same person.

“I think it’s some form of government, not an actual person. People tend to have words in their users, albeit stupid ones, and that isn’t an immediate flag, but they paid one point one seven million dollars already. The amount they promised to pay would’ve ended up somewhere around three million. Even rich people don’t have enough money to spend a couple million dollars on literal overkill. That’s the next thing; they hired two groups of the most elite killers out there. They should only have picked one group. It would’ve been an easy job.

“The contract also said to kill him quickly and painlessly, which shows that the client feels at least a little bad for killing him. Since we got them at the same time, too, I’d say they’d want us to fuck the jobs up for each other.”

“So they set up a trap.” Adrienne said. “That’s why they said to meet them for the second payment. They said they wanted a physical photo as proof, but really, they want us to meet them to be cuffed.”

“They went after us ‘cause we’re four out of the deadliest seven in the world.” Angelica whistled. “That’d be one hell of a field day for ‘em.”

“The Aristocrats are next, non?” Laf suggested. They had changed out of their clubbing outfit and into a sweatshirt and leggings to be a bit more inconspicuous. “They will hire them to kill John Laurens.”

“That’s another thing.” Angelica said quietly. “Are we dropping the case?”

“Of course we’re dropping the case.” Alexander said. “The Feds hired us for it, we’d just be setting ourselves up for failure. The smart thing to do would be to skip town and disappear for a while.”

“That’s the smart thing, sure,” Laf said, “Alexander, what is the  _ best  _ thing?”

He slumped down and thought about it. Every bit of login in him was screaming to leave, to get the hell outta dodge while he still could, to just drop everyone and start over. Hell, he should sever all his ties, Angelica included. He’d built himself up from nothing before, he could do it again. That, or he could take his savings and get a legal job, one he’d have to pay taxes for. He could be a respectable person.

No he couldn’t. The wicked little voice in the back of his head sneered at him, taunting him. He had never survived without playing dirty, he’d been living this way his whole life. He wouldn’t be able to be a respectable man, not after eleven years of murdering thousands of people, and he was a fool to think he could. He wasn’t like Aaron and Theodosia. They got out early, they knew how to live on the right side of life. He didn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t stay. He shouldn’t play the government’s game, he’d lead himself into a trap. He definitely shouldn’t tell John what was happening, not now. He really shouldn’t go anywhere near that mansion ever again, because he knew it would be his demise. No matter how decidedly not boring it would be to play the game, he knew he shouldn’t. He should fly on the safe side this time. He knew what mess he was already in, and what he would be getting himself into even further. It was stupid to even think about it.

But sure, Alexander knew the risks, he knew what he was getting into, he could read the situation perfectly well, but he couldn’t seem to care about doing what was safe, what was easy, what he  _ should _ do.

“We should stay.” He needed to stop himself there, just take it back, he could still get himself out of this disaster. “They’ll just keep coming after us, and keep going after John. They’ll try new methods, more tactics, we’ll never have a job we can trust again. We don’t even know why they chose John, out of everyone in the world. They could have chosen some faceless kid maybe two people would miss, they could’ve chosen he-who-shall-not-be-named, they could’ve chosen the queen of fucking England if they wanted. But they didn’t go big, and they didn’t go small. They chose a Senator’s son known in political circles but a mystery to the general populous. It would have an impact only on that demographic of people, not no one, not a country or more. It doesn’t make sense. There’s too much we don’t know.” He finished, letting himself breathe. He and been talking too much.

“So we stay in the city.” Angelica said. “I’m personally gonna avoid the kid, but I’ll still work with you.”

“I’m in.” Laf said. “I am, how you say, a nobody to him. He doesn’t know me yet.”

“I will also stay.” Adrienne said. “I don’t know if I should approach him.”

“Do you think we should tell him?” Silence fell after Alexander spoke.

“If we didn’t tell him, he’d still be in danger when they hire the Aristocrats, maybe Maria too if she’ll work a sniper gig.” Angelica said. “If we do tell him, we don’t know what he’ll do. Alexander, you know him best. What do you think he’d do?”

He thought back to how John reacted when he first found arsenic in his whiskey, the initial shell-shocked terror, then the following numb rationality. He thought about the nightmares that had him broken in the middle of the night, all of the death he had been surrounded by when he was in the war. No one had tried to kill him before, but he’d been around enough dying soldiers to be somewhat accustomed to the situation. Of course, none of them knew how to handle this. This was new, nothing they’d seen before. They were only able to deal with it because they were very capable of shutting out emotions and letting nothing but logic take over. It was how they managed to kill so many people and stay sane.

“I think--” Alexander paused. He didn’t know what to think. He knew John better than the other three but he was still just a target, just a sum of money upon completion, just another name he had to wipe out.

John wasn’t, though. He was more than that now, despite how badly Alexander fought against his feelings. He had gotten to know John. He knew his habits, his quirks and eccentricities, and he knew John’s vulnerabilities better than anyone else. He had learned quite a bit about John Laurens in the past few days, and it terrified him to realize that he cared.

“We shouldn’t tell him, not yet at least.”

\---

“Alex?” Herc asked when he slipped through the side door at four fifty four in the morning. He was shocked that Hercules was awake, but he had promised to watch John when Alexander was out. “Why’d you come back now?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had managed to get makeup to cover up the hickeys, just to keep him presentable.

“It’s been a long night.”

Herc smiled knowingly and led him to the living room. The house was terrifying in the dark of night, not that Alexander would admit it. It was too large, too empty. It was the vast unknown that he wasn’t ready to face.

“Wanna a drink?” He looked up to see Herc hold out a bottle of bourbon.

He shook his head. “I don’t actually drink. Haven’t in years.” He couldn’t afford to be drunk with the kind of secrets he had to hide.

“Really? You were gonna drink when we were at Martha’s party.”

“That was an act.”

“Why?” How was he supposed to explain that he was watching the French so they wouldn’t kill John, because he was supposed to kill him instead? The loneliness of his job had never felt as all-consuming as it did then.

“I was keeping an eye on someone I thought might’ve been after John.” Not a lie, not the truth, either. “The drink was to make sure they didn’t realize I was watching. I was just another person at the party.”

Herc nodded. “Were they? After John, that is.”

Yes, yes they were. “No. It was a false lead. No one at the party was after John.” That lie was such utter bullshit, Alexander almost had trouble delivering it. Key word being ‘almost.’

Hercules sighed and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t a lot, thankfully, since Alexander needed to not be alone right then.

“When do you think someone’s gonna try again?”

“Well, he’d have to leave the mansion for a good shot at killing him.” Alexander started. “We made it through the week so far. Hell, all he has left is the ball this Friday.”

“That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Technically, it’s Thursday morning right now.”

Herc grumbled and downed most of his drink.

“We’ll have to make sure we’re prepared for the ball.” Herc nodded, but Alexander could tell he was tired, and the bourbon wasn’t a great help. “Go to bed, Hercules. Get some rest. I’ll let you sleep in, Cato and I’ll cover the morning easily enough.”

Herc nodded and smiled tiredly as they both stood. He pulled Alexander into an unexpected hug, and he was tall enough to tuck Alexander’s head under his own. Alex froze up at first, but let Herc hug him. It wasn’t a bad feelings. Alexander didn’t remember the last time someone had been that close to him with no sexual or life-threatening subtext.

“Thank you.” Herc said before letting him go. His hand lingered on Alexander’s shoulder. “For protecting John. He means a lot to me, you know? I’ve known him a real long time. So, thank you, for keeping him alive.”

Herc walked off with one last smile, leaving Alexander alone in the living room. He shivered and started up the stairs. He needed to get to John’s room, where it was smaller, and the darkness wasn’t as unending. He made it up after quickly changing into something to sleep in, sighing in relief when he saw John’s sleeping form. The faintest hints of sunrise were peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow on him. He wasn’t having a nightmare then, and actually looked peaceful. He looked like he was content with his life.

Alexander felt sick. He had been hellbent on killing this man. John was kind, and genuine, and too trusting for his own good. He was smart and opinionated, and had gotten into trouble for it more than once. He was the kind of person Alexander would want to keep in his life forever if they met under different circumstances. Now, he didn’t know if he could.

He shut the tiny gap in the curtains and curled up in his makeshift bed. John’s heavy breathing and occasional snore were the only sounds keeping Alexander from being eaten by his own thoughts.

\---

Nothing could ever go well for Alexander Hamilton, it seemed. After a couple hours of sleep and more than a couple cups of coffee, he was fully functional. He threw himself into his work, as he always did. He started corresponding with Laf, Adrienne, and Angelica through a video chat in one of the studies no one used once Herc woke up, so he wouldn’t have to leave John unattended. He knew he was being paranoid, but he had been an assassin for eleven years; paranoia was in his blood.

He was terrible at taking care of himself when he was working like he was then. He wouldn’t want to get up to eat or move or pee, in case he disrupted his flow of thought. Eventually, he did have to get up and use the bathroom, or he’d make his own kidneys fail through stubbornness alone.

That’s when John came looking for him. It was dinner time, apparently, and he wanted Alexander to eat with them. He found the study empty, the laptop still on and running. He saw the icon in the corner of Alexander’s screen that indicated a call that had lasted several hours, and he saw the document that was left open. If he had put on Alexander’s headphones, he would have heard the three contract killers on the other end screaming at him to leave and panicking. He didn’t, though, so they could do nothing but sit and watch through Alexander’s webcam as he read the plan.

None of the others had access to the document, or they’d delete the text to paste back in later. Having it in the cloud would compromise security, so they all agreed that Alexander would have it, since he was used to writing thousands of words in a few hours. They couldn’t, though, and John saw it all.

When Alexander went back into the study, he froze. John was staring at the computer, his back rigid, his jaw set. Alexander hadn’t known him long, but he knew that John was distressed by what he saw.

Alexander knew the plan backwards and forwards. Of course he did, after all, he’s the one who wrote it. He’s the one that wrote down all of the possible outcomes when they carried out their plan to stick the job out and see it through. He hadn’t written down anything as obvious as ‘yeah I’m an assassin,’ but the message was still clear. John could still figure it out. It wasn’t hard to piece together the listings of names in each outcome, the names that could end up dead or imprisoned. Once he saw that Alexander listed himself as someone who might end up arrested for all he’d done, he would connect that with the brief plan for the potential Aristocrats, and how they might try to kill John. Alexander was just glad that there was no transcript for the call. If one existed, John would see Alexander explain every way he could think of to kill him. Every way he thought of before, and almost carried out.

Even though he didn’t know that, John looked at him like a stranger. He got this look in his eyes, deliberately elusive, because he didn’t trust Alexander anymore. He didn’t trust him at all, and Alexander couldn’t say he blamed him.

He opened his mouth. He didn’t know what he was planning to say, but John cut him off before he could find out.

“Don’t.” His voice sounded steady and sure, but Alexander knew that it was hollow. “Don’t you dare speak. Just, don’t say a thing.”

He shut his mouth and pursed his lips, his fingers curling and uncurling by his sides, helpless. He didn’t know what to do when John pushed past him, shoulder bump Alexander so hard he stumbled back a step. He didn’t know what to do, so instead, he did nothing.

He stood still for a minute after the door shut, fingers still curling at his side, like he was trying to grab for something. After his minute of nothing, he drew in a breath and walked back to his computer. He was good like this. He was emotionless, completely rational. He shoved down his feelings so the only thing left was logic. It was how he worked best. He couldn’t afford to be human in his line of work.

He flicked the page open to where he could see the other three, but he didn’t put on his headphones. Adrienne was looking at him sympathetically, which he couldn’t stand, and Lafayette was flashing between anger, regret, and guilt. Angelica was looking at him in a way he couldn’t quite decipher before mouthing what looked like “Oh Alex,” and he knew he didn’t want to know what she was feeling.

He logged out of the call and went back to the plan. He didn’t have to be ok to be right.

\---

The next morning, Hercules punched him. Alexander had slept in the study, not daring to go to John’s room. He had left in the middle of the night to get some clothes from Angelica, so he wouldn’t have to see John in the morning. He couldn’t avoid them forever, though, because that was they day they had to appear at the second ball.

So, Hercules punched him as soon as he stepped into the main room. Alexander reeled back, barely not falling on his ass. Hercules hadn’t hit his nose, which must have been on purpose, since they didn’t have time for him to bleed on his outfit. Instead, Alexander could feel a bruise grow on his cheek, and he knew he would have a black eye the next time he looked in a mirror.

John sat across from him and never made eye contact. It was the first time in that car no sitting next to one another. John stared out the window the whole time, and never said a word.

He was wearing his old military uniform. He hadn’t given an explanation, but Alex suspected it had to do with his father wanting to show off his decorated war hero son. He had apparently won some sort of valor title from saving lives in Afghanistan, since he wore an olive green suit, instead of a camo one. There was a tight belt around his waist, and every single button on the coat was done up. He even wore a hat, and there was a singular medal above his heart. He sat stiff, like a part of him forgot he was out of the war. Alexander wondered what was happening in his head, what he could be thinking of, remembering.

A lot of the people at the ball were soldiers. He wondered if they all had some connection to an important soldier, and if the ball was for that person. He should have paid more attention to the details of the event.

The entrance was packed full of people, so much so that Alexander lost John in the crowd. He was too small to fight against the flow, and John wasn’t much taller, but he had some sort of fighting experience, and Hercules was with him, so he’d hopefully be fine when Alexander found him again.

He was, at least in the physical sense. He became more closed off when he saw Alexander, which really shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. He got some weird looks for his black eye and the bruise on his face, but he knew he wasn’t the only one there with scars, so he held his head high and channel all his spite into his glare, which was truly an impressive amount of spite, so people stopped looking at him.

He started to walk to where he saw John talking to someone he must have recognized from the army, but the room was also ridiculously crowded, and Alex was small. Alexander got to him just as someone ran into John from behind, stumbling a little and apologizing profusely. John brushed him off with a smile, probably saying it was fine. John didn’t seem like he cared about the guy at all. He didn’t seem to care about anything. Alexander wondered if that was his fault. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have four assassins sent after you in the middle of what would be a day that was fun but not particularly unusual, then to have one of them move in with you,  _ manipulate  _ you, gain your trust, only for it to be yanked away. Alexander didn’t even tell John himself. He found out on accident.

Alexander had decided not to tell John for selfish reasons. He didn’t want John to stop liking him, and he didn’t want to be inconvenienced. He knew he should have just dealt with it, because he did deserve it after all, he was the assassin, John was the innocent. But Alexander didn’t take the blame he deserved, and now John was hurt because of it.

Alexander could tell that John was just going through the motions. He knew John wasn’t really there, wasn’t actually engaged with the people around him. Alexander had to watch from the sidelines as John put on an act. He was a ghost of a person, just a phantasm, really, a flickering, unsteady image projected on a screen, one that everyone was too polite to comment on the way it would waver.

He hated it.

When they got back to the mansion he walked up the stairs behind John, feeling Herc’s eyes bore into his back. Alexander thought that Herc was probably only letting him up there so they could talk properly, and was probably hoping John would punch him too. The masochist in Alex wanted that too, if only so he could pay for what he’d done.

John sighed when Alexander entered his room, but made no move to send him out. Alexander left the door open, though, as John began to take off his uniform. It had a lot of pieces and layers; he must have been suffocating.

“Is Alex even your name?” He finally asked, setting his hat down first and sitting to take off his boots.

“Alexander.” John nodded but didn’t look up. “Summers was a lie. I can’t use it in case someone recognizes me. Hamilton, by the way. Alexander Hamilton.”

John looked up at _ that.  _ “What, as in the Alexander Hamilton with the blog about everything?”

He laughed sheepishly. “The one and only. Which is why I have to have a fake name.”

“I had always wondered how you managed to do that blog for free.” John finally removed the first boot. They were laced up high, and he had to undo each ringlet before he could take them off. “I guess you make a killing in your day job.”

Alexander froze, looking at John incredulously. “Did you just… Did you make a joke about murder in a non-hypothetical way?”

John paused his movement and shrugged. “I guess I did.”

“Doesn’t it, I don’t know, scare you?”

“Not really?” John said, looking up at Alexander and leaning back on his bed. “I’m numbed to death from the war, I already knew that. I guess I don’t care as much as I should because of how much murder I’ve seen. All these soldiers, they kill each other and kill each other and kill civilians in the collateral, and they all say it’s for the greater good, that they’re protecting people, but they’re not protecting anything. At the end of the day they murder for money like you, but they call it honor and valor. They lie to themselves to sleep at night.” He waved a hand at Alexander, resigned. “At least you know what you are.”

Alexander swallowed as John looked away again, finishing his second shoe and easing it off his foot. He didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject a little.

“So now you know what was happening. With the French, and the government.”

John nodded and stood. “The Aristocrats, too. When do you think they’ll go after me?”

“We’ve been trying to figure that out.” Alex frowned when John winced as he started to undo the belt around his waist. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, this is just tight as fuck.” He wheezed.

“Ah.” Alexander made himself focus again. “Do you think the others could come here? We all dropped the case, it would just be easier to have a headquarters.” He didn’t like watching John’s face contort in pain as he slowly took off the belt. “We need to stop the Aristocrats. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, Alexander, I’m fine just, ow. They can come here, sure, I don’t--” He broke off into a yell as he tried to take the belt completely off. He collapsed forwards onto the floor, still shouting.

Alexander ran to him to see what was wrong. He felt horrified to see blood soaking through his suit, coming from his spine. He shouted for Hercules, for an ambulance, for  _ something. _ He ripped off John’s jacket and undershirt to see a jagged gash in the base of his spine. Alexander pressed John’s shirt against the wound as hard as he could, and tried not to think about John’s screams.

No one had touched John. No one had even come close enough to him to stab him. He was cold and distant enough that everyone got the message to stay away. Alexander figured that the tightness of the sash is what kept him alive through the ball, and he was stabbed in a nerve cluster so he couldn’t feel it, but he just didn’t know who could’ve--

Alexander got to him just as someone ran into John from behind, stumbling a little and apologizing profusely. John brushed him off with a smile, probably saying it was fine.

He must have used the contact to stab John Laurens. To try to kill him. To maybe succeed, if someone didn’t get there fast, cause there was a finite amount of pressure Alexander could apply.

“Alexander,” John coughed. “I forgive you.”

“I know, I know.” He said, frantic. He didn’t really know, but this was not the time to talk like he was dying.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, I know, don’t speak, just save your breath.” He could hear people thunder up the stairs. “Just stay alive.”

They loaded him on his stomach onto a gurney and started to carry him away, bandaging his middle as tight as they could and saying something about preparing an emergency surgery room. Alexander managed to see him out to the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let him on.

“Alex!” John struggled to raise his voice. “I think the Aristocrats are already here.”

John had barely managed to get the words out before the door was slamming shut and the paramedics were speeding off, sirens blaring into the distance.

All Alexander could do was stand there and look at the road.

\---

“The Aristocrats are already here.” Alexander said into the burner cell phone he picked up on the way to the hospital. He was in the passenger seat of Herc’s car as he drove them both to it. John was still in emergency surgery, but they needed to be there when he got out.

_ “What?” _ Angelica asked. _ “How do you know?” _

“Hang on let me put you on speaker.” Herc nodded in thanks, and he held the phone up between them. “John’s in the hospital. They managed to get to him already.”

_ “What the fuck?” _ That was Adrienne’s lovely voice. Angelica probably had the other two staying with her for maximum efficiency.  _ “What happened? Is he ok?” _

“Have you seen Sherlock?” He knew Angelica had but the French might not keep up with BBC dramas. “In one of the episodes there’s a character who was murdered without anyone noticing cause he was a soldier and they stabbed him through this belt they wear because it’s tight enough that you can’t feel it. That’s what they did to john, just a little different. In his spine.”

_ “Jesus.” _ Angelica breathed.

_ “What hospital is John at?” _ Laf asked.

“The Saint Joseph’s on the west edge of town. It was the closest major hospital.” Alexander could see it a couple blocks away from them. “B Street and 17th, I think.”

_ “Thanks Alexander. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” _ Angelica ended the call.

Herc looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “So, Alexander. Not just Alex.”

Right, he hadn’t told Herc the truth yet. Now was the chance.

“Alexander Hamilton. I can’t use my real name when I’m working because people know it.”

“John’s mentioned the name a few times.”

“Really?” Herc nodded, but kept looking straight ahead. “Anyways, I’m sorry I lied to you, but I couldn’t let people figure out who I was. And if I wound up in the news…” He trailed off.

Herc nodded, but he was still stiff. They both walked fast to get into the hospital, Alexander struggling to keep up with Hercules and his long ass legs.

“Wanna know somethin’?” Alex asked once they had listed their names for being put on the waiting list to see John Laurens and had sat in the waiting room. He knew that he should stop talking but the silence between them was suffocating, and he was never good at staying quiet. Herc made a soft sound to show he was listening, but he was looking at a small sketchbook where he was drawing an outfit design.

“My family’s all dead.” He looked up at that, but now Alexander was studying the sketch. “I’m not saying this as an excuse or anything, I’m getting to a point. Anyways, by the time I was sixteen everyone related to me was dead and or missing, and I was on the mainland where no one knew me at all. I was put in the system, of course. Before long I was adopted, which I did not see coming, since again, I was a sixteen year old seriously fucked up orphan from Puerto Rico. But a family adopted me anyways. George and Martha Washington.” He looked up at Herc then, who was staring at him with something akin to familiarity in his eyes. “The funny thing is, the closest person I’ve ever had to a dad works in Homeland Security. I don’t even know if he still works there, since he mentioned some sort of internal promotion he couldn’t really talk about with anyone other than his wife, since they had spousal privilege. So, I can’t chance anyone finding out who I really am. I may be a bastard and a killer, but I’m not gonna let him down.”

“You mentioned your brother before.” Herc said softly. “Was he theirs?”

Alex shook his head. “Died in a hurricane. He’s also missing. No one ever found his body, but he has to be dead. I saw him get washed away.”

“I’m sorry.” Alexander looked up at Herc with shock. “I mean it. I love my brother more than anything in this life, I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

Alexander smiled weakly, but shrugged. “He died a long time ago. I’ve had fourteen years to cope.”

“Still,” Herc rest a hand on Alexander's shoulder.

They both went back to what they were doing, only this time Alexander was comfortable with the silence between them. It wasn’t long before Angelica and the French showed up, Lafayette immediately going over to hug Alexander while Angelica and Adrienne checked themselves in, under fake names, of course.

“Alexander, what happened?” Laf asked, while they held Alexander off his feet. They set him down but still held onto him as they awaited a response.

“One of the Aristocrats was at the military ball thing. Bumped into John from behind, must’ve stabbed him then.”

“Did you see his face?”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t know how well I remember it. I wasn't paying any attention to him. He was great at disappearing.”

“We were both there.” Herc said quietly from where he sat. “It’s my fault as much as it’s yours.”

Alexander shook his head as Adrienne and Angelica joined them. “I’m the professional. I know how people work I-- I should’ve been able to tell.”

“And I’ve known John for twenty three years.” Herc countered. “I should’ve been paying better attention to him.”

Alexander opened his mouth to argue that it was his fault more than Herc’s, that there was no way he could’ve known an assassin when he saw one, but an orderly walked out into the waiting room.

“Mr. Mulligan and friends?” They all turned to her. “John’s out of surgery. You can see him, but two at a time. Don’t overcrowd him.”

They nodded and followed her down a series of halls to where John was waiting in recovery. They all decided that Herc and Alexander should go first, since they were the ones blaming themselves for John’s injury.

John was barely awake when they saw him. Alexander went for his medical chart as Herc went to sit on his bed to talk. He didn’t know that much about medicine, and the handwriting was awful, but John was stable. He was expected to recover soon. He set it down with shaking hands and grabbed the edge of the hospital bed like he was trying to squeeze the life out of it.

He was going to find whoever was behind this, and he would make them pay.

\---

Alexander stayed up the whole night. He waited in the lobby very defiantly until the orderlies finally let him back to see John again, even though it was past visitor hours. Angelica brought him his satchel with his laptop, and a subway sandwich, which reminded him that he had completely forgotten to eat.

He spent the night trying to come up with every way possible to find the Aristocrats. He wondered about asking General Washington, or if it would be suspicious. Sure, Alexander always had eyes in strange places for his investigative journaling, but this was different. A covert mission that probably took the government a year or more to fully plan out. The only people who could possibly know about what was going on were the assassins, John, and the few people closest to him. There was no way Alexander would count as one of them in Washington’s eyes.

Unless he didn’t approach it obviously. He could ask some sort of vague question about it, one that General Washington wouldn’t realize was in connection to the actual case. Sure, it was a long shot, there was no way of knowing General Washington had any clue about the case, but it was worth it to fix this mess. Alexander typed out a message.

_ General Washington, _

_ In response to your last email, yes I have been taking care of myself. I’m traveling up and down the west coast right now with a friend. We’ll be heading up to Oregon tomorrow. Please tell Von Steuben I send him my condolences, and wish him luck. I’m afraid I can’t come around for thanksgiving this year. I know it’s a long time before then, but I told my friends that I would babysit their daughter for the week so they could have a vacation. Their daughter is four, so they don’t get a lot of time for themselves. I’ll mention if I’m ever in the area. I’m on the west coast to meet up with different students in colleges to ask about the frequencies of tsunamis and oil spills in the area, and see if they have any potential solutions. After that I’m headed for Colorado to report on medical marijuana research, but I might be able to go back to New York after then. I’ll let you know. _

_ Angel (my friend traveling with me) wants me to tell you she says hi. Apparently her cousin served under you, and she recognized your name when I mentioned you. _

_ I have some questions I wanted to ask you. I’ve been thinking about writing something that takes place in the FBI, or some other official investigations place in the government, maybe InterPol. It would be a drama, mostly exploring how people react to tragedy and horror, but I still want it to be as accurate as possible. I’m thinking that the overarching plot will be about the characters trying to bring down some weapons smugglers that are accountable for most of the illegal transference of firearms in the world. I think the best way to take them down would be to pose as customers and go undercover, but I was wondering what you thought about it. How would you go about something like that? _

 

  * __Alexander Hamilton__



 

  1. _S. Did you see that the first gold medal the US won in these Olympics was in shooting? A tragic commentary on our country, really._



After looking over his email three times for any errors or places to change his wording, and subsequently rewriting the entire thing, Alexander sent it off. Saying he was in the west coast would make it seem like he sent the email at 11:48 instead of 2:48. He didn’t want the General to know he was on the east coast. That would just cause complications, and he couldn’t hurt the Washingtons. That was the line he was unwilling to even go near, let alone cross.

After he was done with the email, he stopped dicking around on tumblr and procrastinating and pulled out the paper files he kept in his bag. There was an accordion folder with piles of paper in each fold, and he kept a blank legal pad with it at all times. He was writing a book.

It would be about his life. Not just the typical autobiography about the bastard orphan raised in tragedy shit, that was actually kept to the minimum. What Alexander was really talking about was the murder. There had never been a contract killer’s autobiography, not as far as he knew. Sure there was H.H. Holmes, but he was a serial killer, that was very different.

He leafed through some of the more recent papers under his little book light. He had already gone over the contracts, and how they worked, and he had written extensively on the other elite assassins and his experiences with them, which reminded him that he would have to rewrite what he had on the French. The Aristocrats too, but not nearly to the same extent.

He hesitated a moment before pulling out his legal pad and a pencil. He began to write out Alexander Hamilton’s step-by-step guide to killing for money. Number one; learn to separate emotions from logic, or get out now. He ignored the snide nagging in the back of his brain to take his own fucking advice and leave. He used John’s hospital bed as a surface to write on, which just added to the hypocrisy. Whatever. He didn’t have to be a good person to be right.

He went over the basic killing methods. Writing out the list brought up uncomfortable memories from his personal experiences almost dying too many times to count. After the seventeenth near-death experience, he started getting tally mark tattoos under his collarbone. He had more than any person should ever have.

He spent the rest of the night writing, as he always did. He knew he could expect a response sometime before nine, since George Washington was nothing if not punctual. Until then, he filled up seven pages of his legal pad detailing the perfect murder, only stopping when he was tapped on the shoulder shortly after dawn. He panicked for a second, hoping whoever it was hadn’t read what he was writing, but he relaxed when he saw it was Hercules. He held out an iced mocha from the Starbucks down the street, which Alexander gladly accepted. The double shot of espresso was bitter and kind of disgusting, but the chocolate mixed in helped a little, and Alexander swallowed it down to stay awake.

As he predicted, the reply came in at 8:29, which he didn’t see until maybe ten minutes later when he turned his computer back on.

_ Alex, _

_ I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. Or rather, that your friend is with you to make sure you do. Tell Angel that I thank her, and ask her who her cousin was, if you don’t mind. I passed your message on to Von Steuben; he thanks you, and says that he’ll be better once he’s processed it completely. _

_ It’s sad that you can’t make it to Thanksgiving this year. It’s been far too long, Alexander, we miss you. It feel like you’re avoiding us, and if you are, we’d rather just hear you say so instead of playing these games. As it is, I wish you good luck babysitting, and your friends good luck in general. Four year olds are exhausting. See if you can come for Christmas. I know you celebrate Hanukkah, but it’s more of an excuse to see you than anything else. We’d be willing to hold a Hanukkah too, if that would be better. Either way, we miss you. Come home sometime. _

_ Your work in California sounds fascinating. You should see if there are patterns relating to global warming, since they seem to have been becoming more frequent, at least in my lifetime. You should steer clear of Kern County, there’s a huge fire in the area right now that was started as an attempt to burn the body of a murder victim. I doubt it would be a good place to drive through. As for your upcoming work in Colorado, that is certainly relevant. When you write an editorial (we both know you will do both a purely informative piece and an opinionated one), you should talk about how racism has affected it so much, since it was common and deemed safe until it was called Marijuana. _

_ As for your questions. First off, it would probably be a part of the FBI or Homeland Security that took the case, if not InterPol. Homeland Security if the case was entirely domestic, FBI if it took place a little overseas, and InterPol if the whole world was involved. You should tell me more about your story as you develop it, it sounds interesting. Taking down an international smuggling ring does sound like something InterPol would do, though I’m under the impression they mostly focus on individuals at large. So, not organizations so much as the heads of the empires. _

_ InterPol would probably spend at least a year planning the mission to take it down, especially if it used some sort of undercover aspect. I remember seeing people come back after being undercover in drug cartels or trafficking rings, and it takes some serious guts to do that sort of work. What you’re talking about though, with posing as customers instead, would probably be safer and more efficient, and might not take as long to plan and prepare for. That is, if you were only to buy weapons or drugs. That sort of transaction happens on the deep web, which you are probably somewhat familiar with from your critique on the evolution of communication (very well written by the way, Martha’s sharing it with some of her colleagues), so you could simply order what you wanted and pick it up, then have the deliverer be arrested on the spot. They would probably send a lower ranking person for the delivery, since this sort of person is careful, so it would be best to start off as a customer and plant a mole from there. _

_ It would be different if you end up going with something other than product trafficking. Something like contract killing, for example, could be laughably easy if done right. If you wanted to take down an assassin, you file a contract and demand that the second payment (upon completion) be delivered in person. Most assassins work alone, so they would be the ones to meet you directly. Now, there are whispers of a ring of elite, high-profile assassins that no one’s really been able to learn about. They’re supposedly different than your average sociopath, and some have allegedly been working for years. In a hypothetical chance to take them down, it would be a little more elaborate, but the idea would stay the same. I guess that the hardest part would be choosing who you’re putting the hit out on, but that’s just my speculation. I would personally choose someone relatively high-profile, so the assassins couldn’t get to them too fast, and there’d be a better chance of apprehending them before the subject was killed. Maybe as a part of your drama, the target could be close to one of the main characters. Maybe one of the killers even, if you wanted to go down that route. _

_ Of course, this is all hypothetical, and I’m getting a little too carried away. I should go now, but I’ll be waiting for a response. I’d love to hear more about this upcoming story of yours, Alexander. _

 

  * __George Washington__



 

_ P.S. That is depressingly fitting. _

  1. _P. S. While we’re on the subject of the Olympics, did you know that three of the junior Olympic track & field team are sisters who live together in a homeless shelter? It makes me wonder what other countries think of our reputation._



Alexander smiled at the postscript message, since it was an interesting reflection of the American population. General Washington had always had that dry sort of humor you would have to pay close attention to to notice, which Alexander hadn’t picked up on at first, but grew to love once he did. He went back and reread the paragraphs on the ‘hypothetical’ mission, wondering exactly  _ how  _ involved the General was. It was unlikely that he wasn’t involved at all, since he even knew about the seven. They were gaining notoriety outside of the underworld, but not nearly to the point someone like the Washingtons would notice.

He even explained why they would choose John. Seeing that explanation, it made sense. They could easily keep tabs on the son of Senator Henry, and he would make headlines upon his death, but the headlines would be in lesser known papers and websites, and the general populous wouldn’t know who he was. He realized then that they should get out of the hospital as soon as they could. People would be keeping tabs on John Laurens, and he was stupid to have not thought of that before.

He wondered what they would do now that there was a failed attempt on his life. The Aristocrats would’ve expected their plan to work flawlessly, and it would’ve, if it weren’t for Alexander’s extensive experience with bleeding wounds. They would be angry then, and bitter, and Alexander would have to watch out for himself. He got the impression that at least one tended to be vindictive and petulant, so they might try to kill him out of spite.

He figured they should try to draw out the Aristocrats. If they could identify both of them, they could know who they had to watch out for at any given time, instead of constantly being on guard. He already knew one of them a little. He was hunched, so it was hard to guess his height, but his figure seemed relatively filled-out, and his skin was dark. He couldn’t remember his face, and he was too far away to have heard him, but he remembered that he wasn’t in the military. That didn’t narrow it down a lot, but if he could find the man through the list of attendees, maybe he’d have a solid shot.

It was the best (and only) plan they had. Alexander would carry it through no matter what, like he always did.

\---

They checked John out as soon as the nurses cleared him to go, and let Herc bring him to the car in the mandated wheelchair. They had decided that it would be best to minimize public contact with him, since the government was probably watching. Alexander felt like he was in a conspiracy movie.

Adrienne drove the car and kept the partition rolled down so Alexander could explain his plan without anyone else being able to listen in, only after they checked John for bugs, of course.

“Alright, here goes.” He started. They all sat inside a luxurious limousine with seats facing each other, which only added to the espionage vibe he was getting. “We need to stage John’s death. If we make it seem like he’s dead and the mission’s carried out, we can meet the people at the drop spot. We can finish it.”

“When you say you’ll finish it, you mean…” Herc trailed off, looking a little sick.

Alexander nodded, chewing his lip. Despite what people might think, he didn’t like to kill if he didn’t have to. Sure he loved the thrill of the escape, of carrying out a job, and he especially loved reaping the reward, but he never wanted to kill an innocent. These people weren’t innocent, he had to remind himself. Not to him, at least, and not to John. They had blood on their hands, even if it was hypothetical.

“An ambush would work well.” Angelica suggested. “Or maybe a bomb. If we can localize a small explosion and get whoever meets ‘em out of there in time, it would work well.”

“And if we couldn’t?” John countered.

Angelica sighed, and Laf spoke up. “Adrienne’s an incredible sniper. If we use a silenced gun, we can start picking them off while the meet takes place. We can have someone on the ground too, to fight if, how you say, shit hits the fan.”

“That would be you. You’re the best fighter, Laf.” They smiled arrogantly at Alexander’s praise. Somehow, it wasn’t irritating. “Angelica should be the second sniper.”

Angelica shook her head. “You’re a better shot than I am.”

“You crack under pressure.” He countered. “I should be the bait. I can talk my way out of anything if it gets to that.”

“It won’t.”

“It  _ could. _ Which is why  _ I  _ need to do it.”

“You sure this has nothing to do with misplaced guilt?” Angelica asked, crossing her arms.

Alexander bristled. “So what if it did? I still have a point. I’m the one who has to do this. John has to go into hiding once everyone thinks he’s dead, and someone has to stay with him, which should be Herc. Laf’s a fighter, Adrienne’s a sniper. Out of the two of us, I’m the best negotiator, at least when there are lives at stake.” Angelica sighed, but nodded. Alexander sat back in his seat, glad he won the argument. All that was left was to fake-kill John, and deliver the proof. He felt a shiver of anxiety run through him, but it came with adrenaline, and he knew he could carry through. He  _ had  _ to carry it through.

\---

The mansion was quiet, and if Alexander thought it was creepy before, it was downright terrifying then. John had sent everyone but Hercules home, saying he just wanted a quiet night. Martha was off with her fiance, so they were alone.

It was a good thing they were alone, since it would’ve been really damn hard to explain to John’s family and such why there were two French people and a permanently pissed off woman taking John back from the hospital with Alexander and Herc. He saw Angelica shiver when she walked into the empty house, and knew he wasn’t alone in not wanting to be in the open. They all headed upstairs to go inside of John’s room, where they decided to all camp out in that night.

John sat down on his bed, wincing slightly, thanking Herc when he handed him some vicodin to swallow. Alex claimed his window seat again, this time with Laf sitting next to him. Angelica and Adrienne sprawled out across the floor, and Herc sat backwards on the chair at John’s desk. Once they were all seated and set up with their computers, Alexander took a deep breath.

“We need to do this by tomorrow night.” Everyone seemed to agree. “So, how are we gonna kill John?”

“Never thought I’d get to decide my own cause of death.” John joked.

“Well, how do you want to be murdered?” Angelica asked, only partially joking.

“It would be easiest to make it look like poison.” Laf suggested. “Like we put something in your pain pills.”

Alexander nodded. “Then we can take a photo of him dead, but not really, and the pills, so I can explain what happened when we do the drop.”

“Alright, seems easy enough.” John agreed. “Convincing, too.”

“Are you afraid?” Adrienne asked.

He shook his head, then paused. “Should I be?”

She shrugged. “You’ll die. We’ll have to change your identity once this is over.”

He stiffened, realizing what this really meant. He would be dead to his friends, to his family, to everyone other than the few in his bedroom that night. He wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to them, and he would never be able to see them again, at least not without changing everything about his appearance first. He would have to completely vanish off the map.

“What are we planning to do after?” Herc asked. “Where can we go?”

“The sea.” John said automatically. He looked up and shook himself out of his thoughts. “My father has some boats down on the harbor, we can use one to get away. He has one that’s big enough for us to be comfortable but not too big.”

“International waters mean that we can’t be sent back to our countries if someone finds us.” Alexander added. “Hypothetically, we could be dumping a murder victim out there and no one could charge us on international waters. Of course, they could have a warrant for our arrest and catch us as soon as we step on land, since there’s no statute of limitations for murder-- I’m getting off track.” He took a deep breath to center himself. He felt Laf put their hand on his thigh, which he was thankful for.

“We just need to make sure we’ll have supplies. Food, water, gas. All of that. We’re gonna need to find a place to go afterwards too.”

“Ok so, we’ll split up the work. Tomorrow morning we fake John’s death, while the rest of us get what we need for the ship.” Angelica said.

“In the afternoon you and Adrienne will want to go down to the spot and set up your scopes.”

“That can wait until the evening.” Alexander nodded at what she said and wrote it down on a piece of paper. “So John, what do you want your last meal to be? Pancakes, or waffles?”

He laughed softly. “Waffles.”

Laf touched a hand to their chest. “A man after my own heart.”

Adrienne rolled her eyes, but laughed a little. “Hercules, you’ll handle breakfast?”

Herc nodded. “Alexander should be there, at first at least, so people don’t get suspicious.”

“They’ll start to whisper no matter what when we disappear.” Alex pointed out. “When we go missing the day after John dies, it’s sure to cause a scandal.”

“Great,” Angelica sighed. “Herc, we’ll change your identity too. We should probably go to another country, don’t you think?”

“I vote for France.” Laf said. They shrugged unapologetically when everyone looked at them. “Most of us here speak French, and it’s close to other places to run.”

“Ok, but it has US extradition.” Angelica pointed out. “If someone finds us, we’re fucked.”

“Ok,” John thought, chewing his lip. “Let’s go to the Maldives.”

“You can’t be serious.” Alexander was met with a grin that said John was in fact, completely serious. “The Maldives? You want to go somewhere for a low profiles, and you choose the Maldives?”

John shrugged. “We’d go somewhere else to change our identities, then head there. It’s cushy, and we’ve got the money to swing it.”

Angelica shook her head with a small smile. “What about Montenegro?”

“Do either speak English?” Herc asked, cutting the debate short.

“Well,” John sighed. “No. Neither do.”

“Then they’re lower on the list.” Herc said. “I only speak English, but I’m willing to somewhere that speaks French or Spanish and learn.”

“Canada.” Alexander supplied. “It does have extradition, but it’s welcome and open to all sorts of travel, and it’s too big for people to care about six people who might not have documents.”

“Speaks English and French.” Herc said. “I’m down.”

John shrugged. “Sure, let’s go to Canada.”

Angelica laughed a little but shrugged and nodded. Laf and Adrienne both seemed on board with it, so Alexander wrote Canada down as their escape plan. Now that all of the big picture problems were sorted, all that was left was to carry through.

\---

Alexander sucked in a deep breath as he shrugged on the shirt Angelica gave him. She had Herc modify it so the top button would record everything around him. She pressed a small round button into his hand when he was dressed.

“Alexander?” He looked at her after she made sure he had everything he needed. “This is a panic button. Push it and we abort. We’ll start firing if we have to, but we’ll avoid it if we can. Got it?” He nodded, and she clapped his shoulder, smiling sadly. “Don’t die, alright?”

“I’m not gonna die.” He assured her. “You know me. I probably wouldn’t be able to die even if we hadn’t taken precautions. I can probably survive on nothing but my spite if I tried hard enough.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Still, be careful. Don’t get cocky, kid, it’s not over yet.”

“It will be soon.”

\---

The night was hot, and Alexander was glad he hadn’t worn a jacket. He was waiting in an alley between an apartment building and an old supermarket. One side had a chainlink fence, which he didn’t know about, and he was sure it was made to bottle him in.

He suspected that they would have snipers posted, but so would he. Adrienne was in the old supermarket, and Angelica had snuck into the apartment of someone out for the night. They were both hidden, so no one would see them. Laf was playing their part on the street; dressed in a  [ sequined miniskirt ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e3/e7/39/e3e739b03902e4a3fa2bf94ccbd05050.jpg) and  [ halter top ](https://cdn.lookastic.com/navy-cropped-top/boohoo-faith-ribbed-halterneck-crop-top-original-280687.jpg) , no one would suspect them of anything violent. What no one knew was that they had smoke bombs in their bra, and a tiny knife was hidden in their skirt. It was the same knife they had when meeting Alexander, which made him smile.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. He had worn a simple yet nice outfit, because he  _ was _ a professional, but he also wore jeans and sweatpants on a daily basis. The most unsettling part was that he didn’t have an earpiece in, so he couldn’t hear anyone else, just talk to them. He had to put his complete blind faith in them.

He saw Laf step off the curb and into the sidewalk, and knew that it was happening. Laf approached some people he couldn’t see, then a man walked into his field of vision. He couldn’t quite make out what he looked like, but he gently turned Laf down and walked into the alley.

“Are you a Crow?” The voice sounded achingly familiar, and when the man stepped into the light, Alexander couldn’t help but back up a few steps. Denial set in, mixed with panic and disbelief, and all he could do was cough to disguise his voice and carry on with the plan.

“I’m  _ the _ Crow.” His voice was shaking a little.

“So, you have the photograph like we agreed?” General Washington asked. “I have the money with me.”

He couldn’t believe it. Of all the people in the government who could’ve thought up the plan, who could’ve been a part of the team, it had to be  _ him.  _ One of the very few people Alexander could never kill. One of the few people Alexander Hamilton actually loved, one of the very few people he honored and respected. The one person it would kill Alexander to let down. He reached into his pocket and pressed the panic button.

“Deal’s off!” He said, voice breaking. “I know you’re a fed.” He saw Laf stand to attention, fingers ghosting over their hip.

The man looked at him in disbelief, and Alexander heard agents run around the corner. He was right, they had backup hidden just like them. He turned and ran, scrambling up the fence as fast as he could. He shrieked out as he was going over the edge and a bullet pierced his thigh. He heard a body thunk to the ground without the sound of a gunshot, and he knew it must have been Adrienne or Angelica. He fell hard against the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He turned briefly, and the world was blurry, but the General was lying on the ground, still, too still, and there was someone else falling down behind him, and a silhouette battling Lafayette. Laf was winning, slashing up their skin and sending them to the ground. They reached inside their shirt.

His whole body hurt from the impact, and his leg was barely working, but he got back up. Behind him he heard a muffled blast, and he knew it was Laf’s smoke bombs.

He stumbled as he ran, but he managed to zigzag a little as bullets blindly flew past him. One hit him in the shoulder and he screamed out, collapsing onto the ground. He managed to drag himself forwards out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, but his arm gave out in a wave of pain. He could hear someone groaning, and someone shouting a name over and over, begging whoever it was to stay alive, and distant sirens, and Alexander wondered how it all went to hell.

He didn’t have to wonder, though; he knew why everything was so fucked up. As strong arms pulled him up off of the pavement he whimpered incoherently, and all he could think was that it was  _ his  _ fault, it was all his fault, it was always his fault. He was thrown into the backseat of a car, and someone was snapping in his face to keep him awake, then there was a sharp pressure on his leg, a tourniquet, he realized, and he was clutching his own shoulder to hold his blood in.

The snapping continued, and then there was clapping in front of his face, and whoever it was was shouting at him to _ stay awake please stay awake stay with me Alexander please-- _

“I’m cold.” He mumbled.

\---

When Alexander regained his consciousness, he wasn’t fully capable of opening his eyes, or even moving. All he could do was lie in the hospital bed and listen to the beeping of machines and the soft humming of voices. He focused in on them to try and hear what was going on.

“I’m worried.” He thought that was John talking, but he wasn’t sure in his half-delirious state.

“I know.” That he knew was Angelica. “Alex’s strong. He’ll pull through. People’ve tried to kill him in every standard in the book, and that’s comin’ from an assassin. He’s too stubborn to die. He could probably heal himself through spite alone.” He would’ve laughed at that if he could.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think you can see it under his hospital thing.” He wanted to flinch, to pull the collar over what he knew Angelica was referencing, but he wasn’t ready to move yet. “Those tally mark tattoos under his collarbone. Doesn’t talk about ‘em a lot, but I know he gets a new one whenever he almost dies.”

“Jesus.” He was sure that was John then. “He has a lot.”

“Like I said, he’s tough. Not gonna die now.” He heard a scraping on the floor, like a chair was moving across tile. The sound made his hair stand on end. “I should go. It’d be creepy if he woke up and were both just staring at him, you know?”

John made a soft sound and Alexander heard the door closing. He heard some shifting, and wished he could open his eyes and see what John was doing.

It was another ten or so minutes before he was strong enough to open his eyes, but it felt like hours from how long he was trapped inside his head with nothing to do. He blinked tiredly and shifted his head just enough to turn to where he heard the voices earlier. John was sitting slumped in a chair, and shot up when he saw Alexander.

“You’re awake!” He nodded to reply. “Oh thank fuck. What happened out there? No one really knows.”

Alexander winced, closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. He saw his heart rate pick up speed on the monitor he was attached to. He didn’t want to remember the night before. He didn’t want to remember the face that looked at him, the eyes that didn’t recognize him, or the voice that shouted out a kill order. He had run, god had he run, but they still hit him, one in the thigh, one in the shoulder. It was a miracle he made it out alive.

“I fucked up.” He said slowly. “The person meeting me I-- I know him. I couldn’t do it.”

“You  _ knew _ one of them?” He nodded again and looked up at the ceiling. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

Alexander wanted to tell John not to be sorry, that of course it wasn’t his fault, and that he didn’t need sympathy. Instead he asked the question that was nagging the back of his mind.

“Casualties?”

“None on our side, but Laf broke their arm, but they’re ok. Three of theirs were sent to the hospital, but I don’t know what happened to them. A different hospital, by the way.” John moved to be closer to Alexander and set a hand on his. “If I remember correctly, I heard a General Von Steuben, some young-looking guy people kept calling Lavien, and General Washington.”

Alexander’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know any Lavien, but the other two were all too familiar.

“What happened to them?” Von Steuben just lost his husband, he couldn’t die now too. His kids couldn’t be left on their own like that. No one deserved to lose two parents in less than two months. And Martha Washington, god, the two were completely devoted to each other, and one without the other was just incomplete. Wrong.

“One was shot in the neck, but made it to the ambulance, so I don’t know what that means. One was shot through the heart, but was wearing something that made the bullet get stuck in the lungs or something. The other was all cut up by Laf. I think Lavien was the one shot in the neck, but I don’t remember the other two.” John exhaled hard as Alexander tried to control his breathing. “Who’d you know?”

Alexander swallowed. “Not now, please just, not now.” Not ever, preferably, but he knew Laf would chew him out until he talked, so he might as well save it for everyone. That, or he could ignore his feelings and bottle them up until he was alone and could drink himself into a stupor for the first time in years. That sounded like the most appealing option.

John nodded as a nurse walked into his room.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He said. He was peppy, and somewhat familiar, but Alexander was too dazed to figure out why. “I’m here for your meds.”

John frowned. “He’s already had his meds.”

The nurse smiled. “These are more. Post-op antibiotics, he has to take them every couple of hours.”

“No he doesn’t.” John said, getting agitated. “Not unless he went into septic shock, but he didn’t. He’s already had his meds.”

“What are you even giving me?” Alexander squinted up at the tiny bottle the nurse was drawing a shot from. “Carbenicillin? No, no, no that’s not right that’s not--” he tried to flinch away from the IV as the nurse pinched it to inject the medicine. “I’m allergic to the penicillin family I can’t h- have that.”

John got up out of his seat and walked back to where Alexander’s bag of stuff was. He looked agitated as he stared at the nurse, and Alexander wondered why he seemed to familiar.

The ‘nurse’ picked up his medical chart and shook his head. “Say’s you’re allergic to macrolides. This is fine for you.” Alexander started blindly pawing at the IV in his arm, trying to pull it out, but his movement was too sloppy and disorganized.

“No no no get away no no just get away just get away from me,” Alex muttered, tears springing to his eyes when he realized how helpless he was. “John!”

The needle went into the IV line, and Alexander could see the medicine trickle down towards his arm. He didn’t hear the shot, of course he did it, the gun he had was perfectly silenced, but he heard the nurse shout in pain and drop to the floor. John blanched and rushed back to his side and yanked the IV out of his arm, which hurt like fuck, and looped Alexander’s (now bleeding but comparatively good) arm around his shoulders. He dragged him over to the wheelchair in the corner, dropping his bag of shit into Alex’s lap. He noticed that John’s hands were shaking.

“Come on Alexander we need to get out of here.” His voice was unsteady as he pushed the wheelchair out into the hall. Alex heard John take a deep breath, and hoped that no one would question them. No one had seemed to hear the nurse, if he was even a real nurse, but John walked as fast as he could to get them out. The moments past in a pain-killer induced blur as Alexander, still only half awake, was wheeled out to the front of the hospital, where John ran to shove him into the car. Orderlies had noticed them by then, but they managed to get inside. “Drive!” John shouted at Adrienne. She nodded and floored it, pulling out as fast as she could without getting arrested.

Alexander groaned and slid down his seat after John buckled him in. He vaguely registered Angelica asking what happened, but he was falling back asleep. He had been awake for not even an hour, but fuck it he had two fresh bullet wounds and he deserved to fucking sleep.

\---

Alexander woke up on a boat. He shot up as soon as he realized where he was, terror coursing through his veins. His shoulder throbbed when he put weight on his arm, but the adrenaline pumping through him was enough to get him off his ass. His leg was also in severe pain, and it barely worked, but he could still walk if he tried hard enough. He limped to one of the doors in the room and shoved it open. It led out to the deck of a ship.

He walked out onto it, cursing when he stumbled. It was still night, but there were distant hints of sunrise. He couldn’t see land as far as he looked, and wondered how long he had been asleep.

“Oh, jesus christ!” He whipped around when Angelica shouted. She stormed over to him through the room he came out of, shaking her head. “John leaves to sleep and I take five fucking minutes to use the bathroom and you get up and leave! Christ almighty Alexander, get back to bed!”

He blinked at her in shock. “Angelica? Where are we?”

She sighed and grabbed his good arm, helping him back into the room. “Perks of being a Laurens includes a hoard of boats. We stole one. Do you not remember this?”

He blinked and frowned in concentration, trying to think past the painkiller haze. After a long pause he nodded. “Canada.” He whispered.

She laughed. “Not yet kiddo, we’ll be sailing for a bit. We’ll make a few trips to shore to get our shit together, then we gotta dash.”

He nodded and laid back down on the makeshift cot.

“I’ll go tell the others you woke up.” Angelica handed him a pill and glass of water. “But you gotta go back to sleep. You’re seriously fucked up, and we can’t go to a hospital.”

“I’m fine Angelica, I’m--” He shook his head and batted her away, even though he was in a world of pain.

“No, you’re not. Take a mother fucking break, Alexander.” He sighed and nodded. Angelica smiled as she watched him swallow the pills, and he fell back into a feverish sleep.

\---

Alexander felt bare without his ponytail. He had cut off most of his hair to change his face, to blend in again, to be a person no one would think twice of. His arm should still be in a sling, but he didn’t dare wear it in fear of giving himself away. His leg was still fucked up bad enough that he had to use a cane to walk. He felt a sharp jolt of pain every time his shoulder moved, and the constant pressure of the suit he wore was excruciating.

They hadn’t wanted him to go. He knew he shouldn’t, it wasn’t even a real funeral. Sure, Herc was there, but he was socially obligated to be there for his friend of twenty something years. He saw General Washington off to the sides, and wondered what he must be feeling. To kill someone, and get nothing in return, it must break him.

The General still held his head high and paid his respects. It was an outdoor funeral, on a sunny day in October. He wondered what John Lauren’s grave said. He wasn’t in it, of course, and Herc said he was cremated, since he was so disfigured from the murder. Still, he got a gravestone to mark his demise.

Alexander waited in the shade of a tree until everyone had left. No one noticed him, which he needed. He needed Washington to have no idea who he was or what he looked like, even though he insisted on seeing the funeral.

The last person there was Hercules, which he expected. He stood in front of the grave with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. As Alexander grew nearer, he saw that they were gladiolas and roses.

He stood next to Hercules for a moment, doing nothing but looking at the gravestone. Alexander wondered what whoever made it would do if they found out that John Laurens was still alive. He wondered what would’ve happened if the French were never involved, and he managed to kill him on that first day. He wondered if that was the plan all along; to pit the assassins against one another in the hope that none could kill him. He wondered what they would do now that John Laurens was supposedly dead.

_ John Laurens _

_ October 28, 1986 - August 30, 2016 _

_ He had become the sun. _

Alexander wondered what the phrase was supposed to mean. He wondered who chose the phrase on his grave, and what the hell they were trying to convey with it. Were they trying to be vague and mysterious? Did they want to seem deep and insightful? Alexander didn’t know. He would’ve thought that they would go with something a little more straightforward, something that made sense the first time you read it.

Though, he supposed it was oddly fitting. John was a lot like the sun, if you thought about it long enough. He was forgiving and enduring, relentless when he needed to be, but gentle all the same.

Alexander wondered again who chose the epitaph.

\---

Alexander’s hand was shaking.

He balled it into a fist and braced himself, then knocked solidly on the door. Now that it was too late to go back, he was feeling afraid again, scared and having second thoughts about being there. Then Dr. Washington opened the door, and he smiled at her softly.

“Sorry I didn’t say I’d be here. And sorry it’s been so long.” Her eyes widened with recognition.

“Alexander?” He nodded and she pulled him into a hug, which made him wince. His shoulder and leg were still healing, and he had a cast of sorts on his shoulder. She noticed and pulled back, frowning in concern. “Alexander, what happened?”

He had prepared himself for that question. There was obviously no way he could tell the truth, that he was shot, shot by none other than General Washington himself, who was standing at the end of the hall and smiling to himself. Alexander had found out that he was the one shot in the heart, and that it was truly a miracle he survived. It hurt to see him so soon after the mission, but Alexander knew he had to.

“Ran into some trouble on my way here.” He shrugged, wincing slightly. “By which I mean that I dislocated my shoulder.”

General Washington smiled and shook his head fondly as Dr. Washington escorted him into the kitchen, where they were preparing the meal together.

“Well, since you have a bad shoulder, you can help George with the potatoes and collard greens. I have the turkey under wraps, and Freddie’s bringing stuffing when he comes by.” Dr. Washington said, gesturing at various parts of the kitchen for him to work at.

“Von Steuben?” Alexander asked. “How’s he been holdin’ up?”

General Washington sighed. “Well, he got into some trouble himself. We both did, actually. We were working a case together, and ended up getting shot by the bastards. Von Steuben was actually cut up, one of them had a knife and was damn good at fighting.”

“George here was shot through the heart, can you believe it?” He chuckled weakly and shook his head, when in reality he could believe it all too well.

“Well, Lavien was shot in the neck. Poor kid was in a coma for a month, but he’s pulling through and got out of the hospital a few days ago.” Alexander filed the information away for later, when he would go back to the ship.

“Sounds intense. What was the case?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled like nothing changed. “Or is it classified?”


End file.
